


I don't know if I have standing, but I'd love to court you.

by serendeputy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendeputy/pseuds/serendeputy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lydia Martin begins sabotaging a mayor's campaign, she gets into far more trouble than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Freeze.” And so came the headlights to follow, clearly outlining a small silhouette, one none of the officers had entirely suspected.

The figure in question thought about running for half a second, but it was clear that no matter which way she went, she was going to be caught, and running from the police could potentially worsen her situation.

“Put whatever is in your hands on the floor, and place your hands on the wall in front of you.”

The instructions were hardly funny, but the culprit fought back a smile. 

“What do we have this time?” the Sheriff shone a torch over the graffiti in process. For the past few months, the same scenario played out, over and over, and each time, the person behind the ‘art’ had escaped. Finally, the Sheriff had caught them out. Caught _her_ out, it seemed, by the long tresses of strawberry blonde, flowing down her back.

“Keep your laws out of my vagina,” the man read, his expression stern, as the smaller framed figure outright giggled.

“Come on, this one doesn’t even make _sense,”_ he criticised, looking at the picture of David Whittemore’s face.

“He thinks he’s _pro-_ life,” Lydia rolled her eyes, turning towards the Sheriff, before shaking her head, “Actually, he’s pro-patriarchy and pro-asshole.” Somehow, despite the fact that he was supposed to be arresting the girl, he chuckled slightly, before masking his slip with a short cough.

“Are you going to come with me willingly or do I have to call back up?” he asked, brows furrowed with mild confusion.

“I’m not going to _fight_ you, if that’s what you’re asking, though I would sort of appreciate if you let me finish my artwork,” she fluttered her lashes, but it was clear that she wasn’t going to get her final request.

“Alright, let’s go, kid.”

Lydia was hardly bereft, somewhat glad that she may finally get credit for her work to destroy David Whittemore’s campaign, but at the same time, she knew better, her mother would bail her out and ensure that no one outside of the Sheriff knew what had happened.

“So …” Lydia crossed her legs as she sat in the back seat of the car, making herself comfortable, “You said ‘this time,’ does that mean you’ve seen other things I’ve done?” she couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of her.

The Sheriff gave her a look from the rear view mirror, which told her that he was both confused by her question, and mildly concerned. “You’ve practically re-written Whittemore’s campaign. It’s – off the records – I agree.”

Lydia made a small, satisfied noise in the back of her throat and shrugged, “You do? I mean, you _should,_ but I’ve learned not to expect much from -”

“Authority figures?” he finished for her, “I can tell.”

A few minutes into the car trip, a younger voice over the speaker came through, “Hey Dad,” the voice – a boy – began.

“ _Stiles,”_ the man sighed, “How many times have I told you _not_ to use the police radio?” he chastised.

“A couple past a dozen, now – did you want chicken and salad for dinner, or –“ the boy was cut off by his father once more.

“Stiles, I’m in the middle of an arrest, right now, would you _mind_ calling me back later. This time – on my _phone?”_

“No. You never answer it! I don’t even know why you have one,” the boy – _Stiles –_ continued, despite his father’s request, “Who are you arresting? What are we talking? A 451? 187? 517?” he kept rattling off numbers at random, and it seemed even _Lydia_ was getting sick of him speaking.

“Graffiti – vandalizing of public property, whichever you want to call it,” she responded in lieu of the Sheriff.

“Dad? Who was _that?”_ Stiles asked, clearly confused.

“The 16 year old girl who has been terrorising our potential mayor for the past few weeks,” the man responded.

“Awesome,” Stiles nodded to himself, “She cute?”

“ _Stiles!”_ his father snapped, though there was a silence just long enough for Lydia to have her own input.

“I’d like to say ‘ _yes,’_ officer,” she spoke up, just loud enough that his son would hear, though the Sheriff seemed to become more displeased by the second.

“ _Stiles,”_ he huffed, “I will speak to you when I get _into_ the office, and if you call back one more time, _you_ will be the one riding in the back of a cop car.”

*** 

Lydia hadn’t even been put in a _temporary_ holding cell, she was quite displeased to say, though her mother probably would have panicked even more. Instead, she was instructed to sit in the Sheriff’s office, until her mother came and retrieved her, and then they would talk about a potential punishment.

After half an hour of sitting by herself in the room, doing nothing but checking her phone every now and again, she was becoming ridiculously bored. Thankfully, as soon as she had had that thought, came someone entering the room, Lydia, thinking it was her mother, stood up, sighing, “ _Finally,”_ before she caught sight of someone she had not been expecting.

Someone she was _certain_ went to her school.

Someone who certainly knew her.

“ _Lydia?”_ he asked, looking her up and down as if he had never seen her before in his life, almost as much as she was pretending she _was._

“You’re in one of my classes, aren’t you?” the strawberry blonde narrowed her eyes, slightly confused.

“All of them,” he corrected, with a nod.

“So … Stilinski,” she nodded, associating the name on the plaque on the Sheriff’s desk with the boy in front of her, as he was clearly who had been talking to her over the radio just an hour earlier.

“Yeah, hi,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, a container in his other hand, “I – came to see my Dad, but he’s obviously not here, so – I should –“

“Stay,” she shrugged, “I’ve got nothing better to do. And you’re Dad’s been called off on another job. Something about a drag race on Drivel.”

Stiles was clearly conflicted, “I – yeah, okay. If you want?” he agreed, though he didn’t seem certain, even as he took the comfortable seat behind his father’s desk.

“So –“ he cleared his throat, “If you don’t mind me asking – did you really sabotage Whittemore’s campaign posters?”

Lydia pursed her lips, “I’m only telling you this because I’m pretty sure if I don’t – you’ll harass your father until he does. So yes, I did.” Unfortunately, this time, she had a little more to hide.

When the Sheriff had found out who was behind the vandalism, it hadn’t been a big deal, knowing he couldn’t say much, because she was underage. Stiles, on the other hand, he had nothing to lose, and could just as easily tell everyone at school how she was spending her free time.

“So can I ask … why would you sabotage your boyfriend’s _Dad_?” he flushed, clearly embarrassed that he knew so much about her.

“Because he’s an asshole. Even Jackson will agree with me there. But that’s – I didn’t want to involve him, and he can’t _know,_ as much as he hates his father – there’s a difference between a family kind of hatred, and how _I_ feel. Which is livid. _If_ you were wondering.”

Stiles furrowed his brow, “So you’re just sort of going around spray painting things on his Dad’s campaign signs, and hoping he won’t find out? Good luck with that.”

Lydia looked across at him “If you _tell_ anyone, I will ruin you. Do you understand?”

The boy shook his head, “I’m not an idiot. And I’m certainly not in any position to be spreading rumours.” It was true, no one paid enough attention to either him or his best friend for him to spread even the largest of rumours.

“Oh,” she nodded, satisfied with his answer, “Well, thanks. I appreciate that, I guess.”

“I think your parents are here,” he announced, pointing over her shoulder, where a woman, dressed impeccably, and with a darker shade of hair, but similar features to Lydia stood, speaking to a woman on the front desk, and a man, looking irate, standing a little behind her.

“Wow,” the strawberry blonde shrugged, “This is the first major event in my life my Dad’s _actually_ attended.”

“I should go,” he decided, standing up, and heading towards the door, “I don’t really want them thinking I’m an accomplice,” Stiles half smiled.

“I’ll see you in school, then?” she offered, though he seemed incredibly surprised by her offer, “Well, I’ll see you, at least,” he muttered, before giving her a slight wave as she walked out the door.

“Lydia!” her mother called across the hallway, “Darling, there must be some mistake – did they have you locked up? I’ll _sue!”_ she looked over at the receptionist.

“There’s no mistake, Mom,” Lydia shrugged, slightly disappointed in herself, though mostly fearful of what her mother would think, and her father would say.

“Let’s go home and talk about this there, the Sheriff has agreed to negotiate your punishment over the phone, seeing as he’s so busy.”

Lydia nodded, “Sorry – I didn’t want to worry you,” she apologised.

Her father intercepted, however, “I told you this would happen, didn’t I?” he looked over at Lydia’s mother, clearly annoyed with the situation in its entirety. “She’s irresponsible, and crying for attention,” the man rolled his eyes, “Clearly signs of bad parenting.”

Lydia wanted to defend her mother, but as per usual, she needn’t worry, “You’re right,” Natalie spoke up, “I _shouldn’t_ let her come and visit you for weekends anymore.”


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently the Sheriff had been occupied until quite a late hour dealing with the hooligans who thought it was a good idea to drive 120 miles in a school zone (granted, it had been quite outside of school hours), so she was told to return to the Sheriff’s station the next day.

That wasn’t much of an issue, and as far as this whole ordeal went, she was kind of relieved that she was dealing with who she was dealing with. Even if he _was_ the Sheriff, he seemed more than understanding of Lydia’s situation.

She arrived at school with her usual level of grace and impeccable style, meeting Allison in the courtyard before they headed inside for role call.

“Where were you last night?” her best friend asked, in between the surnames after ‘A’ and before ‘M.’

“Hm?” the strawberry blonde looked up from drawing inside of her notebook.

“Last night,” Allison urged, “When you didn’t return any of my phone calls?”

“Oh,” Lydia looked up, “Sorry – I was helping my Mom with some stuff.”

Allison clearly didn’t buy it, but both of them had complicated home lives, so she understood, and decided not to press the issue any further.

“I wanted to know if you were still coming to the lacrosse game tonight?” the dark haired girl asked.

“Of course,” Lydia smiled enthusiastically, “Jackson’s playing, isn’t he?”

Allison laughed, “I didn’t think you would, but I just wanted to call to check. You know how my Dad is – he won’t let me go if you’re not there. Especially with these animal attacks going on.”

“I get it,” the strawberry blonde nodded, “I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

***

Lunch rolled around quicker than Lydia had even thought possible, and _finally_ she spotted her elusive boyfriend, who had apparently skipped homeroom for a last minute practise with the team, which they’d somehow coerced the coach into signing off on.

“Look who decided to show up,” she smiled coyly as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle.

“I had to practise,” he responded, kissing the side of her face.

“So did you miss _all_ of your morning classes? Or were you just avoiding me?” the girl enquired.

“Who would ever _consciously_ want to avoid you?” Jackson quipped, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

“You. When you’re in game mode. Apparently I’m a ‘distraction’” she grinned devilishly.

“Okay, yes, I was technically avoiding you, but I was doing it so we’d _win?_ I swear I don’t know how some of these idiots made it into first line. _Stilinski,_ for one,” he rolled his eyes.

“Stilinski?” Lydia turned her head, slowly pulling out of Jackson’s embrace.

“Yeah, you know, scrawny kid? In chemistry with us? He’s got that one friend –“

“Scott,” Allison piped up, though she hadn’t said much throughout lunch, “Scott McCall.”

Jackson laughed, “How do _you_ know who he is? You’ve been here a few weeks and somehow you’re more aware of the student body than our resident Queen Bee,” he smirked across at Lydia.

“I don’t pay attention to anyone I don’t need to,” she responded flatly.

Danny leaned across the table, “I don’t think _you’re_ one to talk, Jackson, you called Scott ‘ _Brad’_ for the first half hour of practise.”

Jackson shrugged, “My mind was otherwise occupied,” he gulped down a mouthful of water, “Someone vandalised my Dad’s posters again,” he announced to the table at large.

“Did they catch whoever did it?” Lydia asked, raising a brow as if she was honestly concerned about his father’s campaign, stealing one of Jackson’s fries in the process. After all, lying was hard work.

“My Dad thinks it’s some kind of hardcore, crazy feminist group,” Jackson shrugged, “Not that feminists are crazy,” he gave a pointed look at Lydia, who smiled triumphantly, “But no, not that I know of.”

“That’s too bad,” she took his hand and pulled his arm across the back of her shoulders, “I know he’s been working really hard on it.”

When all their friends were engaged in other conversations, Jackson turned to her, more sincere than he would dare to be in front of everyone else, “I know you don’t like him running for mayor, but I appreciate your support. Really.”

Lydia just smiled and kissed him, before she got up, taking her lunch tray with her, and promising to see him at the lacrosse game later that night.

***

“Are you serious?” someone asked her as she made her way down the hallway towards her locker.

“Excuse me?” she turned around, coming face to face with the boy whose father had arrested her the previous night.

“I thought you – I thought maybe that whole,” he flailed his arms about, in what she could only infer was some kind of bizarre gesticulation, “Graffiti thing was some kind of break up revenge!”

Lydia shrugged, “Not even. Why would you think _that?”_

The boy looked at her, wide eyed and completely baffled, “Because you – you’re literally destroying his Dad’s campaign!”

The strawberry blonde stopped, furrowed her brows and glared at him, “Would you keep your voice down?” she snapped, before continuing down the hallway, Stiles falling into step beside her.

“I’m serious! If it wasn’t some sort of revenge, what the hell was it?” he asked, this time a little more indignantly.

“It’s me aggressively not agreeing with his father’s campaign, and being utterly annoyed that people actually think he’s going to follow through with any of these absurd promises he doesn’t have the funding for, mind you – they’re ridiculous, _ridiculous_ policies.”

“So what? You’re some kind of political vigilante?” the boy narrowed his eyes.

“ _No,_ I’m just drawing attention to the weaknesses in his campaign. And with any luck, people might actually pay attention, and we won’t have to take a trip back to the 1940s once the election is through.”

“Wow, you’re _really_ mad about this,” he concluded, though Lydia thought she saw him actually smirk for half a second.

“Clearly. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get my books out of my locker, and go see your Dad before next period starts.”

“Yeah, you’re getting community service,” Stiles informed her, making Lydia stop in her tracks.

“ _What?”_ her mouth practically fell open.

“Orange jumpsuit and all. I think they’re thinking of putting a tracker on you, too, getting you to check in every day so they know you haven’t done anything illegal, or fled the country,” he shrugged.

Lydia smacked Stiles in the arm with a book, “You’re really funny and all, but I seriously have to go.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles laughed, “You’ll probably just have to do some filing or something after school, nothing too intense.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, though admittedly, there _was_ a smile playing at her lips, “If I get anything worse, I’m telling them you were an accomplice. A very willing one.”

“And I’ll tell them I was coerced!” he called out to her as she walked away.

“No one is going to believe that! Especially not your Dad!” the girl called over her shoulder, having to consciously wipe the smile from her face as she made her way to the parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

The Sheriff’s station was quieter than Lydia had anticipated, though she supposed not a lot of major crimes occurred at 2pm on a Wednesday afternoon. It seemed that most of the employees were behind their desks doing paper work, which made the visit somewhat intimidating, if only for all of the eyes that were on her when she gave her name.

The man behind the desk told her to take a seat while she waited, and of course, that was when she noticed Jackson’s father exiting the same office she was due to enter, and she practically sunk into her seat, wanting it to swallow her up.

If Jackson found out what she had done – never mind his father – _he_ would be upset. Even if he didn’t altogether agree with his father’s campaign, either.

“Lydia,” he nodded curtly, though he looked considerably confused as to why she was there, which is what he decided to voice next, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The strawberry blonde smiled as sweet as she could fake, “Just paying off a parking fine,” she lied fluently.

“This is why men are better drivers,” he smiled at her, as if he’d just told an actual joke instead of insulting her, and half the world’s population.

“Right,” she laughed quietly, “Good to see you, anyway.”

“I might see you at the game tonight,” he informed her, “Now that they’ve got this issue of the vandal sorted.”

Lydia cleared her throat, “The vandal?” she raised a brow.

“The one sabotaging my campaign, apparently he’s been punished accordingly – I don’t care really, so long as he stops bothering me,” the man nodded, albeit slightly smug.

The strawberry blonde sat in her seat, almost wanting to correct his gender pronouns, before sitting back in her seat.

“Ms Martin?” the receptionist called her over.

Lydia stood from her chair and smiled, “I’ll see you tonight then, Mr. Whittemore.”

“Yes, and remind Jackson to actually warm up,” he laughed coldly, “They tell me he’s the best on the team, but I don’t see it,” the man shrugged, before leaving the building.

“That’s because you haven’t been to a game since he was 12,” Lydia huffed indignantly, and she was quite sure that he wouldn’t be at Jackson’s game tonight, either, despite what he had told her. From what she knew, he was incredible at making empty promises and letting Jackson down.

The Sheriff, surprisingly, exited his office, and moved into the waiting room to speak with Lydia, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him,” she let out a sigh of relief, “Figured it wasn’t really any of his business,” the Sheriff informed her.

“Thanks,” Lydia smiled gratefully, “So, what’s the verdict?”

The Sheriff considered the girl for a moment, before responding, “Filing. Every weekday after school for the next two months.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes, “That’s _it?_ You don’t even have to take me to court?”

The man practically laughed at that, “No, sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not _disappointed,_ I was just so sure he would. Have you _met_ Jackson’s dad?”

Mr. Stilinski nodded, “Yeah, unfortunately, I have. That’s why you’re only up for filing. Anyway, I should let you go, I’ve just been called in for a job in town.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Lydia waved, before following suit and leaving the office, heading back to school for her last class of the day.

***

Of course, when she got to last period, her usual lab partner (Jackson) was given the class off so that he could run through another last minute training session with the team. Lydia wasn’t annoyed, per se, just taken a little aback when she walked into class and he wasn’t there.

That just meant that she was with Allison, where she was usually paired with Scott, which neither of them quite frankly minded.

“So where were you after lunch?” the dark haired girl asked, halfway into the experiment.

“I had to pick up something,” Lydia responded nonchalantly.

“Something?” Allison raised a brow, _usually_ she knew exactly what that meant, “Yeah, okay, don’t tell me. We all know what you and Jackson do after lacrosse games.”

Lydia smirked and rolled her eyes, happy to let her best friend think that that was what she had been preparing for, “You just put – that’s monoxide. Not _dioxide.”_

Allison looked across at Lydia, a glint in her eyes, “You know a lot more than you let on, Lydia Martin.”

Lydia looked up, all innocence and inexperience, “I only know because it has the little two on the label?” she offered, though it was actually because she was far more familiar with molecular equations than she would probably ever let on.

***

Lydia made her way into the locker rooms before the game to give Jackson a little … _encouragement_ before he went out onto the field, and once they were exiting the coaches office, she kissed him firmly, “Your Dad said he might come tonight?”

“Yeah, right,” Jackson rolled his eyes, just as apprehensive as Lydia had been.

Smiling sadly, the strawberry blonde only kissed Jackson once more, “Well, I’m here, anyway, and I actually know what’s going on.”

“And I’m very grateful for that,” he winked, before letting go of her hands and heading into the locker rooms, Lydia turning to go the opposite way to make her way up to the bleachers, of course, she was nearly bowled over in the process.

“ _Shit,”_ Stiles swore as he collided with the shorter girl, grabbing her shoulders to steady her, dropping his lacrosse stick in the process, “Are you – is – did I break anything?” he looked her over, genuinely concerned that he may have broken one of her bones or something, she was tiny, after all.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she looked up at the boy, utterly unimpressed, “You again?”

“I’m – sort of on the lacrosse team, so …” he gestured over her shoulder; towards the door he was supposed to be entering.

“So? I’m not keeping you here?” Lydia informed him.

“Right, sure,” he nodded, “See you around.”

“Every afternoon, probably,” she called after him, to which he furrowed his brow, turning to look at her, “That’s my punishment. Filing. At your Dad’s office.”

“Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed they’re not locking your miscreant ass up,” he smiled, no truth to his words whatsoever, just the usual thick layer of sarcasm.

“Good luck with the game.”

But naturally, with Jackson as the captain, they didn’t need it. The team won 7 – 4, and if Jackson wasn’t the only person Lydia cheered for, it was purely because it was the other persons first time actually _on_ the field. And absolutely nothing else.


End file.
